


The Earth is Still Part of the Sky

by Moon_Of_Io



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Demonic Possession, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moon_Of_Io/pseuds/Moon_Of_Io
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-telling of the events in "Born Under a Bad Sign." What if this episode's final confrontation between possessed Sam and obsessed Dean was a bit...steamier?  A few lines have been lifted directly from the episode and hopefully seamlessly integrated.  The story will eventually arch over the next few seasons, but I wrote this years ago and am just now revisiting it.  The title is taken from a Wendy Rule song of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cancer Rising

He couldn't find Sam.

Fear gripped Dean in an unholy grasp, and he couldn’t stay still, couldn’t think straight. Sam was all he had, and a week ago, he’d just...disappeared. Ellen, who was understanding but also understandably tired of his numerous phone calls to her, told him patiently again that she would call him if Sam contacted her.

“I don’t know where he went or why. Sam’s just gone,” he said.

“This is so unlike him,” said Ellen, but then Dean’s call-waiting interrupted her.

“Hang on,” he said to her impatiently.

His heart leapt into his chest as Sam’s number showed in the caller-ID. Without another word to Ellen, he took the call.

 

It was the beginning of a very, very bad day.

When Dean opened the unlocked door to room 109 in a particularly seedy motel, he thought he was prepared for anything. He wasn’t prepared to see Sam wearing a shirt soaked with old blood that wasn’t his. He wasn’t prepared to spend the day in a _Memento_ -like mystery, since Sam didn’t remember a damn thing that had happened over the week he was gone. The fear that had been at the pit of his belly had abated somewhat at Sam’s call, but it returned full force as he tried to keep Sam protected from his own blacked-out actions.

After an angry and frightened gas station attendant threatened to call the police on a bewildered Sam, Dean’s calm façade began to deteriorate. A hundred hush-dollars later, they were headed north on the highway, and they ended up at the home of a dead Hunter.

Broken glass at the window, a tripped alarm, and the cold, bloody corpse of a man pointed them in the direction of a camera, and ultimately a surveillance tape.

On the monitor, Dean watched Sam slit the throat of the man lying not two feet from them. Instantly, he began cleaning up, covering their tracks, while Sam sat at the desk dejectedly looking at some papers. Dean pointed at the monitor containing the surveillance footage of Sam’s actions.

“How do you erase this? Huh?” Sam didn’t look up. “Sam, c’mon. I need your help.”

“I killed him, Dean,” Sam said lowly. “Just broke in and killed him.”

Dean didn’t have time for Sam to feel sorry for himself. He needed to clean up and get them out of the area as fast as they could. They could worry about Sam’s morals later.

“Listen to me,” he said to Sam. “Whoever this guy is, he’s a Hunter. Which means that other Hunters are gonna come looking for his killer, which means we gotta cover our tracks, okay?” He rose and began searching for a clean rag.

“His name was Steve Wandell,” Sam said suddenly, holding up the papers in his hand. “This is a letter from his daughter.” The letter fluttered like a dying bird as Sam threw it back onto the desk.

Dean understood Sam’s angst, understood that this Steve had been a person, with family and a life and soul, and that that life had been snuffed out and that Sam was the person responsible for it. He wished they had time to come to terms with it, but there were more pressing things that needed to happen first.

Taking the CPU that held the proof, he raised it above his head and smashed it into the floor. The noise startled Sam out of his malaise somewhat, and Dean threw the dirty rag he’d been holding to his brother.

“Wipe your prints, then we go,” he said, and left the room, leaving Sam shaken.

Dean knew he was being abrupt and unfeeling, but he also knew, deep down, that Sam could never have done what it looked like he did. Something else was afoot here, and he knew that Sam hadn’t been Sam when he’d slit Steve Wandell’s throat. Not his little brother. Not his Sammy.

Once back at the motel, he said as much, but Sam - being Sam - didn’t believe it. It always amazed Dean that Sam could think so little of himself, when it was Dean that was the fucked-up one, whose life was shit.

Predictably, Sam, who was so prone to grand gestures, forced a gun into Dean’s hands and asked him to do what their father had said to do if and when the time came.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Sam said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dean looked at him in disbelief. “You won’t,” he said firmly. “Whatever this is, you can fight it.”

“No. I can’t,” Sam replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Not forever.” He pressed the gun to Dean again. “Here, you gotta do it.”

Those fucking puppy-dog eyes gazed down at him and begged him, but everything inside Dean rebelled at the thought of putting a bullet to his brother. Sam was the one thing in this life he loved, and no way could he live without him. Sam was his anchor, his compass, his lifeline. Dean could never do what Sam was asking of him. He looked down at the gun laying so awkwardly in his hand.

“You know, I’ve tried so hard to keep you safe,” he murmured.

“I know,” Sam replied, his voice tight.

Dean studied his brother’s tortured face, then shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said, and put the gun on the table next to them. “I’d rather die.” He walked away from his brother.

He never saw the pistol-whip coming.

 

After coming-to to a motel manager’s banging on the door, another hundred bucks got him use of the motel computer. On the phone, he spoke to a Justin Timberlake die-hard at a cell-phone helpdesk, and found Sam’s cell phone GPS in Duluth. Never again would he not be able to find Sam.

Shit. Jo was in Duluth.

Bait.

Fuck. He hoped he could get there in time.

 

As it turned out, he just barely made it before Sam slit her throat with a very large knife.

Jo, tied to a wooden pillar in a dockside bar, her eyes frightened and angry, was on the receiving end of a very bad Sam-trip. Dean advanced, his gun out and pointed at Sam, and Sam immediately began begging for Dean to end his life.

“I told you to stop me! I can’t fight it! My head feels like it’s on fire, all right? Dean,” he said, “Kill me. Or I’m gonna kill her.” Jo closed her eyes. “Please, you’d be doing me a favor. Shoot me.”

Dean did nothing.

“Shoot me!” Sam shouted, holding his arms wide for the perfect target.

Dean’s finger tightened on the trigger momentarily, then he made up his mind.

“No, Sammy, come on,” he said.

Sam looked back at him in disbelief as Dean lowered his gun and turned his back to his brother.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Dean?” Sam bellowed at him, “Are you that scared of being alone that you’d let Jo die?”

Sam didn’t see what Dean held in his hands.

The water steamed and hissed as it hit Sam when Dean turned around and threw it.

“That’s holy water, you demonic son of a bitch!” Dean yelled.

Sam’s eyes turned black as the demon inside him finally made itself known. Again and again, Dean threw the holy water out of the flask he held. Each time, Sam screamed in agony. But a flask only held so much, and when Dean ran out of heaven juice, Sam made his escape by throwing himself out the nearest window.

Hurriedly, Dean untied Jo and started after Sam.

“He was possessed?” he heard Jo say. He stopped and threw her a brief but disdainful glance.

Duh. Of course he was possessed.

She was a pretty blonde who thought she was tougher than she was. As he turned back around and jumped through the broken window to go chase Sam, he made a mental note to call Ellen and tell her where her daughter was. Jo needed looking after.

The dry-storage facility was almost abandoned, but there were numerous places even someone as large as Sam could hide undetected. He kept his gun low and ready.

He saw a flash of Sam’s white shirt, but turned too late, and the demon was gone. He decided to try a new tact.

“So who are you?” Dean asked. His breath fogged in the damp chill.

“I got lots of names,” came the reply in Sam’s voice, and Dean began to move closer to the sound. He knew the demon was armed, so he kept his movements quick and silent.

“You’ve been in Sam since he disappeared, haven’t you?” he called out to the dark cavernous room. He needed to keep the demon talking.

“You should have seen your face when you thought he murdered that guy,” the demon retorted laughingly. “Pathetic.”

Dean decided it was gonna pay for that. Later. Now he just needed to save Sam.

“Why didn’t you kill me? You had a dozen chances,” he said, and heard something clatter behind him to his left. The demon was trying to misdirect him.

“Naw, that would have been too easy,” it said from a different place than before. “Where’s the fun in that? See, this was a test. I wanted to see if I could push you far enough to waste Sam.” What? “I should have known you wouldn’t have the sac.”

Oh, the demon was definitely going to pay for that. Dean had never even come close to killing Sam, but the fact that this prick had tried to get him to… There was going to be a lot of pain inflicted on this bitch when Dean caught it. No one did that to the Winchester brothers and expected to get away with it.

“Anyway,” the demon continued, “fun’s over now.”

The demon stepped out from his hiding place and simply opened his palm, and suddenly Dean was slammed against a tin partition. He fought, strained against the power holding him, but the demon inside Sam was too strong, so Dean stood pinned against the wall, exposed and helpless. How had that fucker moved so fast?

A gloating smirk appeared on Sam's face, an expression Sam would never use, and Dean's hatred of the creature grew.

"Oh, Dean," said the demon using Sam's voice. "Do you know how amazing it is to be inside Sam? His body is as close to perfection as mere humans can achieve." He paused, considering Dean's face. "But then you know that, don't you?" he said cannily.

Dean inhaled sharply, unable to reply with his jaw being held shut by the demon's power. A small, quiet bloom of panic began to unfurl in his belly. Surely this demon didn't know.

"Oh, yes. I know," murmured the demon as if reading his mind. "You see, when we're not busy possessing hapless people to get our quota of evil in for the week, we're watching. There's always one demon or another watching you, Dean. And we've noticed a few things."

Sam's face broke into an evil grin that didn't reach the deep black eyes that were the only evidence of the demon's possession. His hands reached up and began unbuttoning his own shirt. Slowly, deliberately, each button slid free of its hole, and soon the garment fell off Sam's broad shoulders and onto the floor. The undershirt shortly followed. Dean closed his eyes, a horrified groan escaping his throat despite himself.

"Magnificent, isn't he?" the demon said, stretching and flexing Sam's body. Sam's chest was wide and deep, his nipples small and perfect. His abdominals looked like they were fresh from a sculptor’s chisel. The muscles moved gracefully under his honey-gold skin, and Dean couldn't help but agree with the demon's assessment of Sam's attributes. His brother was a work of art.

Then his anger doubled. Here this fucker of a demon was, showing off Sam's body with the proud air of a car-thief cruising around in a Bentley he'd just lifted from a gated community.

"Like I said, we've been watching you, Dean. Watching you watch Sam. You aren't even aware of it most of the time, but we catch it." The demon made Sam snicker derisively. "You are one sick puppy, Dean. Lusting after your younger brother that way. You do know that's illegal, right Dean? Oh, no snappy reply. What, cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, that's right. Demon got your tongue."

And laughing at his own joke, the demon made a small gesture, and Dean felt his tongue come unglued from the roof of his mouth.

"Get out of my brother, you filthy bottom-feeder."

"Temper, temper, Dean. What can you possibly do to me? You know anything you do to me will hurt Sam. And you wouldn't want to mar this splendid body, would you?" The demon snickered. "In fact," he said lowly, his gaze settling very intently on Dean's face, "you have something very different in mind for Sam, don't you Dean?'

The demon drew closer, and Dean tried to step back, to no avail. "You keep away from me, scumbucket," he spat.

It only laughed, drawing inexorably nearer to Dean, crowding him, stopping within an inch of his nose. "Isn't this what you want, Dean?" Sam's hands found Dean's chest, one snaking up behind his neck, the other settling over his heart. Said heart skipped a beat, then started pumping double-time, and confusion addled Dean's already strapped mind. It was the demon, he knew, but it was also Sam, and his disobedient dick didn't seem to know the difference.

Sam's cheek swept gently over Dean's, his dark brown locks tangling in Dean's own spiky hair. Sam's lips brushed his ear. "Dean," it whispered, and he sounded so much like Sam that Dean groaned in despair, his breathing labored as he fought to control his reaction.

Then Sam's hand moved from its resting place over Dean's heart and began lazily stroking his pectorals through his shirt. Where Sam's hand passed, he left trails of heat. Dean's nipples stiffened under the firm pressure, and the sensation made him moan in longing. Sam flattened his hand and covered Dean's heart once more, then slowly traced it downward.

"No." The word tore out of Dean's mouth as he felt Sam's fingers trace down his belly, graze over his belt, then gently cup the growing hardness under his zipper.

"Yes," whispered Sam, and firmly pressed his fingers up, at the same time catching Dean's earlobe with his teeth and gently biting down. The tortured groan that escaped from Dean's chest shook his whole body, and Sam shuddered.

"God, Dean," he said shakily, "I can feel how much you want me." He nuzzled Dean's neck as his hand left the lump in Dean's jeans to tug on his belt buckle.

Again Dean felt the need to protest, to resist, but couldn't quite remember why, and the "no" that issued from his mouth this time was no more than a tiny whimper, easily brushed aside and ignored.

Then Sam's large, warm hand delved down the front of Dean's jeans and closed over his thick, throbbing shaft and gently pulled it free, shoving the tight fabric down a little. "Jesus," Sam whispered, staring down at Dean's straining cock. "You're so hard for me."

A vein in Dean's neck stood out as he fought to keep from making a fool of himself by redecorating the floor in white. But Sam's hand began stroking him slowly, squeezing the head between forefinger and thumb as he reached the end. A single drop of liquid appeared at the tip, and Sam brushed it off with his thumb and lifted it to his impossibly lush lips. Dean watched as Sam's tongue flicked out and delicately licked the drop from the digit. Sam closed his eyes in delight at the flavor, then opened them again, and his sweet, chocolate gaze met his brother's. His dimple, the one Dean had always longed to kiss, appeared as he smiled guilelessly.

Then Sam's hand found Dean's cock again and began jerking him off in earnest. Sam bent to whisper in Dean's ear again, his lips brushing it with every syllable.

"I want you so much, Dean. I ache with it. When we're lying in separate beds, I have to force myself to keep quiet when I'm jerking off to thoughts of you. Of your mouth, your cock-"

"Sam-"

Suddenly, his arms came free of some paralyzing spell, and without thought, Dean clasped them tightly around Sam. Sam's skin under Dean's palms felt like he always knew it would, warm and smooth and firm. He pulled him close, pinning his cock and Sam's hand around it between Sam's bare stomach and Dean's own clothed one.

But a new hunger consumed him, and Dean thrust his hands into Sam's hair. Blindly, he sought Sam's mouth with his, roughly covering his brother's lips with his own. They were soft and eager, but Dean couldn't stop to savor them in his quest to take Sam's mouth, and his tongue parted them greedily. His first taste of Sam was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, sweet and hot and wild and familiar all at the same time. But the slick glide of Sam's tongue sent his eyes back in his head. Dear God, yes. He was where he'd always wanted to be, and though he couldn't exactly remember how he'd gotten there, he didn't much care. Again and again, he kissed Sam deeply, wanting to bind his brother to him forever.

Abruptly, though, it was too much. Dean felt the familiar tingle start at the base of his spine, and he tore his mouth from Sam's. No, no, this has to last, he thought. He tried to tell Sam to slow down, to ease the pressure, but he couldn't find the words, and Sam jerked him even faster as he felt Dean's cock jump and grow harder in his hand.

Then, cat-like, Sam slid his tongue into Dean's ear, and the strangely electric result made the pleasure-sensors inside it riot.

"Fuck!" he shouted. Stars exploded behind Dean's eyes, and his body tensed as his orgasm slammed into him. His seed spurted out of him in a hot, white gush, splattering Sam's bare chest and Dean's chin and one cheek. "Oh, God, Sam," he groaned, dazed, as his cock jetted another spray of come. He buried his face in Sam's neck as he rode out the rest of it, the paroxysms gradually easing, until the only movement or sound was their breathing in the dim, silent room.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed, the word only the faintest hint of sound. He let his arms go slack and finally leaned back and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Sam's bare stomach, crisscrossed with spatters of Dean's come. Slowly, he followed the pattern upward to where it spread across Sam's chest. There was one small drop on Sam's neck, but his chin and smiling mouth were free of it. Dean felt a small, light ball of happiness settle in his chest and lifted his gaze to meet Sam's eyes.

Which were solid, endless black.

The light in his heart was snuffed out as realization of what had just really happened flooded through Dean in a sickening, horrifying wave. Nausea washed over him, and he would have fallen to his knees were it not for the demon holding his legs locked.

Sam's lips twisted in a cruel smile, and his voice laughed in a deep, dark way Sam would never do naturally. Before Dean could react physically, the demon's power had him forced against the wall again.

"My word, you're an easy mark," it said, casually wiping a forefinger through the semen on Sam's belly. "That took me all of what, two minutes?" He brought the finger to his lips and licked Dean's come off of it, echoing his earlier charade. Dean quavered in disgust. "Mmm. You know, you really do taste good, Dean," the demon said conversationally, continuing to wipe up all the drops one by one and suck them into Sam's mouth. "A bit sweeter than normal. Must be all that pie you eat."

Dean concentrated on keeping the bile from rising into his throat.

Finally satisfied that Sam's torso was clean enough, the demon bent over and snagged his undershirt off the floor. "You know, I think I'll wake Sam up in a few minutes." Pulling the shirt on over his head, he continued, "He'll come to, taste your come in his mouth, and for the rest of his short life, he'll be wondering whose it is and where it came from."

The demon laughed delightedly at his idea, then pinned Dean with an unreadable stare.

"Or maybe he's been awake this whole time, Dean. Maybe he knows now about his big brother's sick obsession with him. Maybe he heard you call out his name when you jizzed all over his chest with all the restraint of an adolescent."

Dean groaned unwillingly and tried to close his eyes, but somehow he couldn’t, and he was forced to watch as the demon finished dressing Sam. It turned back to Dean and studied him for a moment, then chuckled.

"You should really see yourself standing there with your limp dick hanging out. It's so pathetic."

Shame heated Dean's cheeks, and the only thing holding back tears was the adamant thought that no demon had ever seen him cry, and neither would this one get the pleasure.

The demon drew closer again.

"For what it's worth," it said, then very gently brushed his lips with Sam's, "you're the best kisser I've encountered in over a thousand years. You should be proud." Then the demon licked a stray drop of come from Dean's cheek and laughed lowly.

"Pity you didn't last longer," it said. "You could have had Sam's ass. But don't worry. When we've finally succeeded in dragging both of you to hell, I'll personally make sure you get to watch as Sammy boy is bent over the sacrificial altar and violated in every way possible by an entire legion of demons. That's a promise." The demon reached down and patted Sam's backside fondly. "It won't be virginal much longer," it said.

Then suddenly, there was a gun in Sam's hand. Dean's pulse leapt.

"I could so easily kill you right now," said the demon, advancing on Dean until the barrel hovered just over Dean's heart. "But what would be the fun in that? This torture of you was so entertaining. I can't wait to see the aftermath. Has Sam seen our little tryst? Will he be able to hold in his disgust for you long enough to tell you he's leaving you, or will he just walk away?

"Or will I always have him, and this delusion you so happily suffered for a few moments is the last memory you'll have of your brother, and the closest you'll ever be to happiness?

"Or maybe he doesn't know, and when I finally release him, he'll always wonder why you look at him so strangely and carefully, and he'll sense a vague connection between your guilty face and the taste of a stranger's come on his tongue."

The demon was gone before its laughter was finished ringing through the room.

Without warning, Dean came crashing down from his forced stance. His knees hit the stone floor hard, and he heard one of them crack, but he didn't care. Rage and pain and shame and hatred and disgust were vying for supremacy in his head. They choked him, and his body bowed under the mass of stress, knocking him flat on his back.

He tried to keep his gorge down, but he couldn't stop replaying the demon's last words to him, about what he'd done. Sam would hate him. He'd lost him forever. That thought made him lose control, and he bent over and vomited.

Not much came up, since he'd been so caught up with finding Sam that he'd forgotten to eat much in the last week. But his body was wracked with dry heaves, and the bitter taste of bile filled his mouth as his stomach emptied itself.

Fighting through the self-loathing and nausea, Dean forced himself to stand. Resolutely, he got his clothes back in order, refusing to think more about his sick lack of control while he tucked himself in and fastened his jeans. Once he was together, he followed the demon, running jerkily in pursuit. His own feelings weren’t important right now. Saving Sam was important, and he would deal with Sam’s knowing or not knowing, or his rejection or his (yeah, right) acceptance of what had just happened. Later. He would deal with it after he saved Sam.

He pushed through the wooden door the demon had disappeared through. It led to a pier and no sign of Sam. He hadn’t heard a splash, but Dean checked the water anyway. No Sam.

Suddenly, the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he turned.

Sam’s gun was held low, and before Dean could react, a searing pain tore at his shoulder, and the blast from Sam’s gun echoed in the night. The force of the shot catapulted Dean into the sheltering darkness of the water, and without thought, he swam as fast as his injured arm would let him. He would need reinforcements to save Sam. It was time to call Bobby.

 

Jo’s bedside manner could use some improvement. Her soothing words of, “Don’t be a baby,” as she dug in his shoulder for the bullet Sam had planted there did not comfort him at all.

After she had him patched up and he’d pulled on a bottle of whiskey a few times and they’d fought over whether she was going with him to get Sam, he left her with a dismissive, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

He didn’t hear her say quietly, “No you won’t.”

He made a call to Bobby on the way to his house, but Bobby gave no answer. He swore and hung up, then jammed his foot down harder on the accelerator.

 

When Bobby answered the door, relief flooded him. The old man was okay. Sam hadn’t gotten to him yet.

“What the hell have you idjits been up to? Why the hell’s Sam possessed by a demon?” Bobby asked, disgruntled.

Shit. Sam had gotten here first. Thank god Bobby was a crafty old devil.

“Bobby, I’m sorry. I didn’t know until today.”

“Well, the demon in him’s kinda dumb. Sam goes missing for a week, and of course you call me to tell me. Then he shows up like everything's all normal. Please.”

“How’d you know?” Dean asked as Bobby led him to a back room.

“Holy water in the beer. Oldest trick in the book. Bastard never saw it coming.”

Bobby pushed open a door, then turned abruptly and threw water on Dean.

Dean blinked, but didn’t take offense. Bobby wasn’t still alive because he was stupid.

“It’s me, Bobby.”

“Had to check,” the old man replied, and handed Dean a towel.

“I know,” Dean said as he dried his face, then looked around.

Sam, unconscious, was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. A devil’s snare was painted above him.

For the first time in over a week, the cold knot of panic in his belly began to loosen. Bobby’s house was the safest place on earth, and Dean knew things would be okay now.

“What’s that on his neck?” asked Bobby, pointing at a small pearl of what Dean knew was his own semen under Sam’s jaw. Dean had to keep himself from reacting.

“No idea,” he said faintly, glad that his little dip in the river had washed away from Dean’s shirt any evidence of his earlier climactic meeting with the demon.

It was time to get this party started.

He nodded at Bobby, then turned and smacked Sam upside the head.

“Hey!” Dean said as the demon woke up and saw its new unfavorable situation.

After a thorough dousing with holy water, an almost-escape, and being thrown around the room and punched out by a pissed-off Meg demon (it was Meg? What the hell?), they finally succeeded in getting the demon out of Sam, thanks to some quick thinking on Bobby’s part.

As Meg fled in a huge black cloud of smoke, Dean’s eyes latched onto a confused and bewildered Sam.

“Sammy?” he asked from his position on the floor. His nose was bleeding, and his shoulder burned like a sonofabitch.

Sam seemed to notice the pain in his arm from the hot poker Bobby had used to break the binding brand the demon had placed there. He looked from Dean to Bobby, then said, in a very Sam fashion:

“Did I miss anything?”

Dean loved his brother so much. But he could be such a moron. The sucker punch he landed on Sam’s left cheek was a weak one, but it made Dean feel a hell of a lot better.

Once Bobby sent them on their way with warnings about other Hunters hunting down Steve Wandell’s killer (how did Bobby always know everything?), Dean began his probing search of Sam’s memories of the past few hours. Obviously Sam remembered being in Steve Wandell’s house, as he’d almost spilled the beans to Bobby about it before Dean stopped him, but he didn’t know if Sam remembered _everything._

Dean looked over and studied Sam’s face. There didn’t seem to be any revulsion in it, nor any indication that he knew what the demon had done with Dean in that godforsaken boat hangar. He didn’t flinch away from Dean, didn’t hold himself apart. He was just Sam again. But Dean still needed reassurance.

“You okay?” he asked. Sam didn’t answer. “Sam? Is that you in there?” Lame joke. He always made bad jokes when he was nervous.

“I was awake for some of it, Dean.” Sam’s face was deadly serious.

Oh, god.

Dean took his eyes from the road and carefully studied Sam’s face for any memories of Dean’s taste on Sam’s tongue.

“I saw myself kill Wandell with my own two hands. I saw the light go out in his eyes.”

Oh. The killing thing. Right. Reason to be upset. The killing thing. Not the Dean-coming-all-over-Sam’s-chest-while-kissing-him thing.

“That must have been awful,” Dean said vaguely, too wrapped up in his relief to really care.

Sam looked at him like he was crazy.

“That’s not my point,” he said. “I almost carved up Jo, too. But no matter what I did, you wouldn’t shoot.”

“It was the right move, Sam. It wasn’t you.”

“Yeah, this time. What about next time?”

Dean couldn’t believe they were having this conversation again.

“Sam, when Dad told me…that I might have to kill you, it was only if I couldn’t save you.” Sam just stared at him. “Now, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m gonna save you.”

They both turned their attention back to the road. Suddenly, Dean gave a small chuckle.

“What?” Sam asked, serious as always.

“Nothin’.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, what?”

Dean gave in. “Dude, you…you like, full-on had a girl inside you for like, a whole week,” he said, then laughed again, relief flooding his mind and making everything seem five times funnier than usual. Begrudgingly, Sam started laughing with him.

“That’s pretty naughty,” Dean added.

Things were okay.


	2. Always Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a few weeks later, and the events of "Heart" have come and gone. Dean admits a little more than he means to to an outraged Sam.

Every day, it was getting more difficult to even breathe the same air as Sam. Dean kept feeling it, over and over, Sam's naked chest pressed to his, his mouth – dear God, his mouth.

Fucking hell. This couldn't go on. The past few weeks, Dean had been watching Sam like a hawk, checking his face for any signs of recollection, but Sam gave no indication that he remembered what it was to have his mouth glued to his big brother's, or jerk him off in a dingy, rusty warehouse.

Nope, Sam was just Sam, same as always. It was Dean who had changed.

Unfortunately, Sam had noticed.

“Why are you constantly tiptoeing around me?” he asked one day a few weeks after Steve Wandell's funeral.

They had just checked into a motel room after an eleven-hour drive, and Dean was exhausted. He didn't have the strength for this. He gingerly eased himself down on the corner of one of the beds. Said beds were both too close together and too far apart for Dean's taste.

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked, scrubbing a hand across his grainy eyelids.

“You won't let me drive, you won't let me go anywhere by myself, you agree with everything I say, which, let's face it, is a _huge_ red flag to those who know you, and I see you watching me constantly, like my eyes are gonna turn black any moment. I thought we were over what happened in Duluth. What the hell, Dean?”

Dean sighed. He really, really didn't want to get into this now, but Sam wasn't giving him much choice.

“Look, Sammy, I'm just trying to make sure you stay safe, okay? If your highness will recall, you disappeared on me for a week, and we spent a very, very difficult day cleaning all that up.”

Sam bristled at that.

“Hey, we're protected from that now,” he said stiffly. “Neither of us is gonna get possessed, and I wish you'd stop bringing it up. And anyway, even right after it went down, you weren't as bad as you are now.”

“No, Sam,” Dean said sagely. “I was. I guess I was just better at hiding it.”

“Great. So you don't trust me at all anymore.”

“It's not that, Sammy,” Dean objected.

“No, Dean, I think it is. I think you think I'm just gonna go out and start randomly murdering people. God, I'm amazed you can sleep in the same room with me.”

I can't, Dean almost said, but controlled his tongue just in time. Instead, he said, “Come on, Sammy, don't you think you're reading into things a bit?”

“No, I don't,” Sam said flatly. “I've seen you following me when you think you're being slick. I can barely run an errand by myself. Jesus, heaven forbid I should meet a girl and want to go out for a night! I'm amazed you haven't followed me on a date!”

“Actually-” Dean began, and quickly cut himself off.

Sam's eyes narrowed.

“What, Dean?” he probed.

“Nothing,” Dean said. “I was just thinking that you could go and pick up some beer.”

“That's not what you were gonna say,” Sam accused.

“Pretty sure it was,” Dean said mildly, hiding the panic that was lodged in his throat.

“What were you really gonna say?” Sam demanded.

“Nothing,” Dean insisted. “Just really want some beer.”

“Bullshit. You were going to tell me you followed me on a date, weren't you?”

“Sam-”

“When was it?” Sam interrupted shortly.

“I don't-”

“ _When?”_

Dean sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

"You remember the she-wolf in San Francisco?"

Sam's eyes darkened as he nodded. She'd been a beautiful, intelligent woman, full of life and vitality, and she'd had no clue of the gruesome murders she'd been committing at each full-moon cycle. He'd fallen for her in a way he never thought possible after Jessica. But he'd lost her too, in the end; it had been his own bullet that had snuffed out her life, at her request.

"Yeah, I remember," Sam replied quietly.

"I watched you."

Sam's head snapped up and his eyes fixed on Dean's face. "What?"

"Through the window. I was in the building across the street. I watched you fuck her."

Dean watched realization, followed swiftly by outrage, make their way across the face he loved most.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Sam, I'm tryin-"

"No! Don't feed me some bullshit line! You watched us? You had no right doing something like that! That is private and intimate and...why the hell would you do that, Dean? What, were you trying to check out my technique? Wanted to make sure you were still the pimp daddy of the two of us? Look, I may not have as much experience as you, but I don't fuck for the sake of fucking, okay?"

"I know, Sammy, I just-" he stopped and chuckled. "Did you really just say 'pimp daddy?' "

"Now's not the time, Dean!"

"No. No, you're right. Look, I guess... I wanted to see what you were like when worry wasn't lining your face, okay? I never knew you, Sammy. You were gone for so long and out of this life, and...I wanted to know what it was like for you when you weren't thinking about demons and spirits and stakes and silver and the Colt and..." he almost choked on the word, "Dad."

"So you thought you'd watch me fuck someone? That only makes sense in your warped, backward mind, Dean! No one-"

"I know, okay? I know I crossed a line-"

"Crossed a line?"

"Yeah, crossed a line, Sam! Okay, I admit it! What I did was stupid! But I don't regret it for one second."

"Oh, why, because you established that you're the better lay out of the two of us? Because now you can give me a coaching session on how to fuck a woman? Madison only came twice before I was inside her - should I have held out for three or four? Excuse me, but it had been a while okay? I don't crawl into bed with every warm body I come across like some of us in this room-"

"Okay, that's enough, Sam. I'm trying to explain someth-"

"Explain, then!"

"I'm trying, you little bastard!"

"Well, you're not doing a great job, Dean, because I'm not hearing you!"

"You'd hear me if you'd stop flapping your gums for two goddamn seconds!"

"All right, fine! Fine! I'm all ears, Dean! Tell me why you're so happy you got to see me fuck a girl, if it wasn't to criticize my technique or find out who's got the bigger dick. Go ahead. Hit me with your best shot." Sam stood ramrod straight against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyebrows raised expectantly, his eyes pinned on Dean's face.

Silence.

"That's what I thought," sniffed Sam. He turned to go, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm outta here."

"You were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Sam froze, unsure he'd heard the words uttered so lowly behind him. He turned, his eyes searching his brother's face. Dean did not return his gaze.

"What did you just say?" Sam's voice came out a whisper.

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, visibly bracing himself. When his eyes opened, they fastened on Sam with a piercing intensity that paralyzed him, and strangely, made his blood sing.

"You were beautiful, Sammy. Beautiful and fierce, and I couldn't look away, even after I became ashamed of myself. You were grace and power and..." his voice betrayed him, and he faltered. "I couldn't look away."

Sam was silent a moment, and studied his older brother's face. Finally, he spoke.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Dean's mouth opened, but no sound came out, and he stared helplessly at Sam, his eyes a mystery.

Sam dropped his hand from the doorknob and took a step closer to where Dean sat on the corner of the motel room bed, his elbows resting on his knees.

"What was the point, Dean?" He took another step.

Finally, Dean seemed to find his voice again. "Sammy, I just...thought you should know."

"Know what?" Sam asked quietly, closing the remaining distance between them and standing in front of Dean so close that Dean could smell him, smell the aromas of soap and shaving cream and a scent buried deeper under those chemical ones; something utterly Sam, the most familiar smell in the world. Oh, God, he wished Sam wouldn't stand so close. Dean didn't dare look away from his face, didn't dare drop his gaze to what was inches away from his eye level, inches away from his mouth-

Shit. Fuck. Hell. Damn. That was the wrong thing to think about. Thank god, thank god he'd untucked his shirt, because he could not deal with Sam seeing the physical proof of what his closeness did to Dean. And as he had several times before, Dean had the distinct feeling that his brother remembered what had happened in that bar in Duluth and was just trying to get Dean to admit to it. The thought that Sam might remember, might even want it again…he had to suppress a shudder.

He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment as he imagined Sam's hand coming to rest on his shoulder, his only-recently calloused fingers sliding up to cup his face as their eyes met in complete understanding. Sam would only need to nod, and Dean's hands would move like lightning, grabbing at Sam's belt, unbuckling, unfastening, unzipping, pulling, tearing at the barrier between them until Sam was exposed to him, his in a way he'd never been anyone's, because this was Dean, and he loved Sam best. Sam's taste would be like his smell, only more, and Dean wouldn't be able to help himself, keep himself from groaning in desperate delight as he gorged on his little brother's cock-

"Dean?"

Dean's eyes snapped open as he was brought back to a very complicated present. He was sweating, his breathing labored and uneven. Sam's face was full of concern. Dean had no idea how long he'd been submerged in his helpless fantasy, but Sam was obviously worried, and over his anger.

"Dean, are you getting sick?"

Dean forced a laugh.

"Oh, come on now, Sammy. You know I've always been sick."

Sam gave a grudging laugh. "Well, that's one thing we agree on, anyway." He gently smacked Dean upside the head and turned around, retreating. "I'm gonna go on a beer run." And just like that, the matter was dropped.

Disappointment warred with relief at the loss of Sam's closeness, but Dean's face betrayed neither. "Okay, Sammy. I'll be here when you get back."

"I know."

"Be-"

"Careful, I know. I will. You worry about me too much."

But you're so fragile, he thought in response. Out loud he said, "Worried about you, hell. I love my car. Be careful with her."

"Funny."

"You thought I was joking? Hey, bring me some pie!"

Sam laughed as he closed the door behind him.

Dean stared at the door where Sam had just been.

This was getting harder and harder. Literally. Dean's eyes closed again and he flopped back on the bed, his hard-as-rock dick pushing against his tight jeans and making him groan. With rushed, jerky movements, he reached down and unzipped them, pulling his cock free.

The resulting relief made him groan softly, and he lay back down, letting the cool air wash around his jutting shaft. After a moment, he sighed, then sat up and pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. Rising, he shed his remaining clothes as he crossed to the bathroom and turned on the shower.


	3. Beams of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, sweet, sweet release from all that pesky buildup. ;-)

It was only a few days later when the storm inside Sam finally broke.

It started harmlessly enough.

The laundromat had been unreasonably packed on this particular cloudy day in Oregon. Finally back from that mundane chore, the two Winchesters were packing up their meager possessions. Another case solved, another demon vanquished, and all they had to show for it was dirty clothes and a couple new scars.

“Demons are pretty stupid, considering all the ones we deal with are, like, thousands of years old,” Dean snorted derisively as he stuffed a tee shirt into his knapsack.

“Um, Dean, I have to disagree.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “They always try the same shit. They are literally walking definitions of insanity.”

“Well, at least one of them's pretty smart,” Sam muttered.

Dean dropped his bag on the bed. “Sammy, I thought we decided to get over this.”

“Well, I'm _so_ sorry, Dean. I guess some days are just better than others, okay? I only remember every single thing that happened when she held me prisoner in my own body.”

Dean's blood turned to ice.

Surely not _everything._

He swallowed, waiting for Sam to alliterate, but the silence stretched after Sam's admission, and after a few moments, Dean couldn't take it anymore.

“We should get packed up,” he said.

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice quiet and intent. “Did you hear what I just said?”

Dean grabbed his bag and headed for the escape of the door, but Sam was quicker. He grabbed Dean by the arm and held him in a vise-like grip. Dean's breath caught at the strength in those hands.

“Sammy, there's no need to exaggerate,” he said, casting about for the right words.

“I'm not, Dean. I was awake for it all. I remember all of it.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but he might have screamed it in Dean's ear, for the effect it had on his older brother.

Dean wrenched away from Sam, but his legs suddenly wouldn't move, and he stood rooted to the spot. The time had finally come, and Dean was not prepared for this.

“I remember the dry-dock,” Sam continued.

“What dry dock? You woke up at Bobby's.” Dean's heart was beating so hard he could barely squeeze the words from his throat.

“We were in Duluth, Dean,” Sam said. “Duluth, where Meg tied up Jo to a wooden pillar. Where you threw holy water on me, where you chased Meg, where she caught you. And what happened after.”

“Nothing happened,” Dean said. The bag of clothes fell from his suddenly lifeless hand.

“Bullshit.”

“Nothing happened,” Dean reiterated. He clenched his jaw shut against the sudden rise of nausea in his stomach.

“Everything happened,” Sam pushed. “Meg undressed me.”

“ _Nothing. Happened_.” The words were wrenched from Dean in a desperate, dark tone.

Sam had had enough of Dean's games.

“Stop denying it, Dean! I was there! I remember everything, okay?”

Dean stood stoically, his back to Sam, his eyes determinedly on the floor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, not moving.

Sam jerked Dean around by the arm and shook him when Dean refused to look him in the eye.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about,” Sam said sarcastically. “Right. Like for weeks you haven’t been looking at me with guilt written all over your face. Like I don’t remember the sounds you make when you come, the way that vein stands out in your neck-”

Dean wrenched away, panic making him reckless. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated, his voice low and raw. He backed away from Sam, looking for a route of escape, but the only path to the door was through Sam, and Dean didn’t trust himself to be that close to him right now.

“You called out my name when you jizzed all over my chest.”

“Stop it.”

“Meg was right. Your come tastes sweet.”

“Shut. Up.”

“You want it again.”

Dread filled Dean at Sam’s accurate accusations. What Sam must think of him right now, knowing his secret, carrying it for months before finally he couldn’t stand the sight of him anymore. Dean just wished things would be left better than this when they finally parted for good. Abruptly, he gave up the pretense and closed his eyes in defeat.

“All right, Sam,” Dean said through stiff, numb lips. “All right. Yes. It happened. All of it.” As he admitted it, everything he’d been holding dammed in was finally released. Shaking with the effort, held in the tears of shame. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You should have been stronger.”

Not possible, Dean thought. Not when it comes to you.

“Look, I understand, okay? We’re done. I get it. It happened, and I was trying to protect you from it, but Meg didn’t let me. I’m so sorry, Sammy. But you know it happened, and there’s no going back.” His voice failed him for a moment before he said what he knew he had to, but dreaded nonetheless. “I’ll go. You can have the car, the weapons, whatever you want-”

“I don’t want any of those things,” Sam cut him off. “There’s nothing tangible that you can give me that will make this situation any better.”

Dean couldn’t hold them in anymore, and a tear finally escaped and slid down his cheek and reflected the dim, watery sunlight filtering through the blinds in their motel room. He swallowed, then nodded jerkily.

“Okay, Sammy. Don’t worry, okay? I won’t bother you. Just…” his voice faltered again before he plunged on. “Just call me if you need me. For anything.”

“Where are you going?” demanded Sam.

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Just…away.”

“Why?” asked Sam incredulously.

Dean finally raised his eyes to Sam’s in mild disbelief. “Weren’t you here for this conversation?”

“I’ve been here for everything.”

“And don’t you want me to go?”

Sam’s gaze bored into Dean. “Whoever said that?”

Dean’s puzzlement was written clearly across his face. “Then what was the point of bringing this up? Why did you want to humiliate me like this?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Humiliating you was never the point, Dean.”

“Then what was? I can’t feel any lower, Sam.”

Instantly contrite, Sam’s eyes changed from demon-mad to puppy-dog. “Dean…that’s not why…ah, shit,” he said, and ran his hand distractedly through his hair. Dean could see his brother was struggling with something, but suddenly he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. All he wanted to do was get very, very drunk, and go and find some tiny, dainty little blonde with blue eyes who didn’t believe in ghosts and fuck her all night. He knew it wouldn’t do any good, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment.

“Look, Sam, let’s just drop it, okay? We can’t change the past, we both know what happened, and we know how we feel about it.”

“See, Dean, I don’t think we do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be threatening to leave.”

“I wasn’t threatening, I was offering.”

“Same difference, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “I’m tired, Sam. I’m so tired. I’m tired of hiding this thing. You know what happened that night, but what you don’t know was how badly I wanted it. I wanted it to be you. Wanted it so badly that I fooled myself into thinking it was, and I was the happiest guy alive for a few precious seconds in my delusions. I have spent all my time since then between hating myself for it and wishing I was back there again.” He paused, trying without success to decipher Sam’s unreadable expression. “So now you know everything.”

Sam stared at Dean for a moment. “Now I know,” he agreed.

“So I’ll go,” Dean said, and started forward.

Sam caught him by the wrist and pulled him back.

“What is this obsession with leaving all of a sudden?” he asked in irritation.

“You think this is what I want?” Dean retorted. “I’m doing this for you, you big tree! I’m leaving so you don’t have to see me, to deal with this…sick…attraction I have to you. Don’t you understand, Sam? Do I really need to spell it out?”

Sam watched him, his eyes a mystery.

“Yeah, Dean. I think you do.”

Anger suddenly shot through him. He jerked his wrist out of Sam’s grasp and pushed him against the wall.

“Fine! I want you! I want to fuck you in every way possible! I want to hear the sounds you make when I’m in you, I want to feel every inch of your body with my hands, my mouth. I want to taste you again so badly that half the time I’m around you I can’t see straight. And it makes me so angry that the only time I’ve ever kissed you the way I want to was when a demon was taking residence inside you, and it wasn’t even really you!”

“Yes, it was,” Sam said quietly.

Dean had drawn in a breath to retort, but when he actually heard what Sam was saying, he held it. Time seemed suspended for a moment as he processed what he’d heard.

“What?” he finally whispered.

“When you kissed me, I was able to force Meg out of the way for a minute,” Sam replied, his voice low.

“Why?” asked Dean, confused.

“Because I wanted to kiss you back.”

Dean held his breath again, afraid to even dare hope for what that meant.

“Y-you…”

“It was me, Dean. You kissed _me._ And I kissed you.”

“Why?” Dean asked faintly again.

“Can’t you guess, Dean?”

“I think it’s time for you spell it out this time, Sam.”

Sam smiled tenderly and dropped his gaze to Dean’s mouth. Dean’s heart stopped, then started again double-time.

“You mean you’ve never known that the feeling is mutual?”

Dean couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“Sam…whatever this is, I’m begging you…don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” Sam said, his face sincere as he searched Dean’s own countenance. “Not in the least. I’m at least as obsessed with you as you are with me.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat again as he watched Sam’s face. Before he could give himself time to think about it, he reached up behind Sam’s neck and brought his head down to him. Sam’s lips met his eagerly, and he groaned in surrender, immediately grabbing Dean’s shirt and twisting the fabric in his fists.

Dean’s entire existence narrowed to this one thing, this one act. His perception focused only on the taste of his brother’s tongue, still so strangely familiar. Dean slanted his head and began to kiss Sam more deeply, his arms winding around his brother’s shoulders and pressing him close. Sam’s fists twisted ever tighter in Dean’s shirt, until Dean grasped his wrists and pulled them free of the fabric, then guided Sam’s arms around him. The feel of those arms holding him so tightly made Dean’s head light, and he sank his hands into Sam’s wild mass of hair, groaning in delight that he could at last do so after years of wanting, and felt his cock begin to stir in his pants.

Sam’s steel-band arms were around his waist, pulling him close, then pulling his shirt out of his waistband and delving under it to feel Dean’s bare back with his large, warm hands. The action drew a moan from Dean, who tore his mouth from Sam’s and buried his face in his brother’s neck.

“Please let this be real,” he whispered, so lowly that Sam almost didn’t hear him. Almost.

“It’s real, Dean,” Sam said, a little breathless. His hands swept from Dean’s back to his sides to his front, fingertips drifting over his nipples, and Dean gave a harsh groan. Sam made a small sound of frustration. Suddenly his fists tightened in the fabric of Dean’s shirt and he pulled. A satisfied smile crept across Sam's face as the sound of buttons popping off fabric filled the room, and impatiently, he ripped the rest of the shirt from Dean's sleekly muscled frame.

Again, Sam lifted his hands to Dean's body, murmuring a reassurance when Dean quivered under his touch like a stallion. Leaning down, he took another kiss from Dean, then reached for the fastening of his jeans.

Oh, god, Dean could hardly believe what was happening, and so fast. In one moment, he’d been about to walk out the door and separate himself from Sam forever, and the next they were in each other’s arms, their mouths trying to devour one other. His heart swelled, and so did his cock. Then Sam shoved his hand down Dean’s pants and immediately found what he was looking for. A choked cry escaped Dean as Sam freed him from his jeans, and he roughly thrust his hips forward.

It was as powerful as before, only more so, because his thinking wasn’t clouded by a demon’s magic this time; it was really Sam. Dean plucked impatiently at Sam’s t-shirt, and Sam briefly freed him to shuck it off. Sam’s wide, muscled chest met Dean’s eyes, and he cursed shakily under his breath. Then Sam took hold of his cock again, slowly jerking him in his big hand.

The pressure was too much for Dean to bear, and he quickly grabbed Sam’s wrist before he exploded. He could not bear a repeat of last time. Instead, he drove Sam back against the wall with his body and pinned both Sam’s wrists on either side of his head.

“Not so fast, little brother,” he said, his voice hoarse and smoky. He pressed another hard kiss to Sam’s eager mouth, and Sam squirmed against his body. The rasp of denim against his bare dick almost made him lose it again, and he stepped back. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the sight of Sam clothed any longer, and frantically began unbuckling his belt, tearing at his fly, jerking his zipper down.

When he reached into Sam’s open jeans and found the hard shaft ready to burst through the fabric, Sam groaned, his hips moving violently at the stimulation. Dean made a sound of satisfaction, having wanted to hold his brother’s immense cock since seeing it in action the time Sam had slept with the female werewolf out in California.

Without thought, he sank to his knees and came face-to-face with it, then impatiently grabbed the waistband of Sam’s pants and pulled down. He glanced at Sam’s face, gratified at the sight of his slightly open mouth and swollen lips, the heavy-lidded eyes, the cheeks flushed with color. Sam was watching him, his breath coming in heaving pants, and his eyes glittered as they bore into Dean’s, who grasped Sam’s big cock in both hands, then opened his mouth and greedily took him in.

The first taste of Sam was like autumn – fresh and clean, and inexplicably, of nutmeg. Dean groaned in pleasure around the huge organ, sucking and licking the way he’d wanted to for forever. He couldn’t get enough, feeding on Sam’s cock with a voracity that surprised even him. Sam’s head dropped back against the wall, a tortured groan escaping him. His hands thrust into Dean’s hair and gently held his head as Dean’s mouth slowly took him as deep as he could, then pulled back, creating a strong suction that had Sam arching off the wall.

“Oh, god,” the words burst from Sam’s throat in a desperate rush, and Dean hummed in satisfaction, then repeated the movement, lapping the underside of Sam’s cock with his tongue as he took him in. Sam was able to stand that about two more times before his hands tightened in Dean’s hair and he said, “Oh, god, Dean, your mouth - Dean, stop. I’m gonna-”

Dean ignored him, sucking more intensely as he felt Sam get harder under his tongue. Jesus, Sam was so hot it was making Dean’s head spin, and he ran his tongue over the sensitive head of Sam’s shaft, circling it twice before exploring the small indent at the tip, where he found a drop of viscous liquid. Eagerly, he lapped it up, closing his eyes at the taste, again strangely familiar and crisp. He wanted more.

But Sam had other plans, and he gently but firmly pulled Dean away and up, covering Dean’s mouth with his own again. He took one of Dean’s hands and enfolded it over his pulsing cock. Dean rose up to meet him, pressing him back against the wall again, his hand never leaving Sam. In earnest now, he started jerking him off, his hand moving quick and sure over the swollen organ, and Sam clung to Dean, lost in the sensation.

Dean moved his mouth to Sam’s ear and spoke, his voice low and uneven. “I’m going to fuck you, Sam. I’m going to come inside your ass and your mouth, and you’re gonna belong to me. I’ll keep you safe, Sammy. No one loves you like I do. Jesus, Sam, I love you so much.”

At his words, Sam gave a choked cry. “Dean,” he grated hoarsely, and turned his mouth once again to his big brother’s. Dean felt Sam’s cock jump once more in his hand before a hot burst of come jetted from it, splattering both their chests as Sam cried out his pleasure into Dean’s mouth. It seemed forever that Dean held Sam that way, until finally the spasms abated and their lips unlocked. Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck, his breathing harsh and deep. Dean closed his eyes and kissed Sam’s shoulder, leaning them both against the wall for support. His cock was painfully hard, and it was trapped between their slick, bare torsos.

At last, Sam’s head came up from its resting place, and he nuzzled Dean’s temple with his lips. “Dean,” he whispered. Dean didn’t answer. His muscles were thrumming with a fine tension, his body almost shaking with need, but he was suddenly hesitant to look up. He was afraid. This scene was very similar to a previous one, one that had ended horrifically, and Dean couldn’t take it if that happened again.

“Dean,” said Sam again, a bit louder, running his hands up Dean’s arms and shoulders to cup his face. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes to Sam’s broad chest. Just as before, it was crisscrossed with spatters of come, but this time it was Sam’s. Then Dean’s eye caught sight of a pentacle tattoo on Sam’s left pectoral, and he slowly let his breath out. The tattoo was identical to his own; they had both gotten one after Sam’s demon-possession. Dean reached up to cover the protective symbol with his hand. Sam understood what the gesture meant, and covered Dean’s hand with his own. “It’s me, Dean,” he said. Taking his courage in both hands, Dean lifted his eyes to Sam’s. Liquid brown eyes, slumberous and full of sincerity and love, gazed back at him; Sam’s eyes were his own. He was smiling as one hand lazily swept across Dean’s chest.

“It’s you,” Dean agreed, still not quite believing his luck. Just to reassure himself that it was, he pressed another kiss to Sam’s lips, then traced his finger over the white fluid patterning his belly. Without thinking, he brought his finger to his lips and tasted Sam, closing his eyes at the flavor. A sudden curiosity entered his mind.

“Why didn’t you want to come in my mouth?” asked Dean.

Sam’s eyes half-closed in delight and he gave a shudder at the thought of doing so, but he shook his head and stroked Dean’s lower lip.

“I had to…even the score,” he said lowly.

Dean shivered at the feel of Sam’s finger tracing his lip, then forced himself to pay attention to the conversation. A very difficult thing to do, since Sam’s iniquitous fingers had found his cock again, and was slowly stroking him up and down.

“What do you mean, ‘even the score’?”

“The last time this happened, it ended horribly for you. I wanted to make a new memory of it.”

“But I was the one who…who…”

“I wanted you to be in control, and I wanted to be in your place.”

A little stunned, Dean stared at his younger brother, at his almost naked, glistening form, and felt a large surge of blood rush to his already hard dick. Roughly, he shoved Sam against the wall again and took his mouth in a deep, ravenous kiss that left them both breathless. Somehow, they made it to the bed, and Dean covered Sam with his body, one knee between Sam’s legs. Their mouths never lost contact, and Sam arched up against him, rubbing his pelvis against Dean’s engorged cock.

Oh, god, finally, finally he had Sam under him and willing. Not just willing, but eager, straining against him, matching him kiss for kiss. Convulsively, Dean’s hips thrust down, and he made a sound of frustration that his jeans prevented full-on contact. He reared up and shoved them down while Sam kicked his own jeans off his ankles. Once free of the fabric, Sam stretched, flexing his big, muscular body, almost glorying in the suddenly bright sunlight coming through the windows.

Dean watched him, transfixed, marveling at how natural Sam seemed to be, when his upbringing told him what they were doing was anything but. Amazingly, though, Sam didn’t seem to care, and since Sam didn’t, neither did Dean.

“Turn over,” he ordered quietly. And lazily, like a great, graceful cat, Sam obeyed him, presenting Dean with a view of his beautifully shaped ass, and his strong, wide back. Dean’s heart stopped and his dick jumped in response. Slowly, Dean crawled onto the bed and settled behind Sam, reaching out a shaking hand to stroke one firm buttock. Sam purred in reaction to his touch and arched his back, his hips rising to meet Dean’s hand. Dean’s eyes darkened, and his blood felt effervescent in his veins. “Come up on your knees. I want to see you.”

From that angle, he could see the tiny, puckered opening of Sam’s body. He moved his hand and ran his finger down the fissure between Sam’s buttocks, then wet his thumb and slowly, deliberately probed at Sam’s ass, circling the tight entrance before pressing within. Sam made a raw sound in his throat, his hips shifting restlessly.

“Oh, god, Dean. Yes. Fuck, yes. Don’t stop.”

Dean could see Sam’s cock start to thicken and stiffen again, and he gave a smile of grim satisfaction at the sight. He withdrew his thumb, then shifted his hand and inserted two fingers. This time Sam’s reaction was even stronger, his hips bucking. Dean went as deep as he could, and his fingers encountered a small knob deep inside Sam. Turning his fingers, he made a stroking motion up and back, and Sam all but came again, a strangled sound reverberating from his chest. When Dean began stroking him there repeatedly, Sam couldn’t keep his hips still or control the sounds he was making, and he reached down and grasped his own hard-again cock and started stroking it in tandem with Dean’s internal caresses.

Dean ran his free hand over Sam’s back in a calming touch, and Sam quieted somewhat, but the distraction of what Dean’s fingers were doing to his prostate was too much.

“Dean,” Sam said again, his voice smoky with need. Dean was almost ready to burst himself, and decided he’d had enough preliminaries. He removed his fingers, and Sam made an almost disappointed sound. He wriggled his ass in the air, and Dean couldn’t resist bending down and tasting him there, propelling his tongue into the recently-breached entrance as far as he could. “Fuck!” yelled Sam, unprepared for that onslaught, and had to take his hand from his dick to keep from coming immediately. Both his hands twisted the sheet beneath them, and he sank his teeth into the motel room pillow.

Dean withdrew and stood, surveying his handiwork, and said almost to himself, “I wish we had some lube. I don’t want to hurt you.”

To his surprise, Sam turned his head from the pillow and said, “There’s a bottle in my bag.”

Dean blinked, then said, “You just carry lube around? How often do you…” he couldn’t finish the question, afraid of the answer.

“I’ve never- only with girls. I bought it after…after Meg possessed me. I just thought…I hoped…”

Dean’s head did that spinny-thing again, and concentrated on breathing for a moment. “You’ve been carrying it around for months, waiting for when we would…when we…” Neither of them could seem to finish a sentence, but thankfully each knew what the other was saying.

Sure enough, a search of Dean’s knapsack turned up a bottle of high-end lubricant, and Dean wondered when Sam had slipped away to buy it. When he popped the lid, a safety seal met his eyes, and he smiled as he realized Sam was telling the truth. As he broke the safety seal, the allegory of what he was doing crossed his mind, and as he kneeled behind Sam and slowly, thoroughly began spreading the slick fluid around and inside him, he cautioned himself that though Sam was ready and eager, he’d never done this before. Dean would need to take it easy this time.

Sam moaned at the feel of Dean’s slick fingers, and Dean said quietly, “On your back. I want to see your face the first time I take you like this.”

Sam turned back over and opened his legs, and Dean knelt between them. Sam grabbed the bottle of lube from Dean and poured out a liberal amount, then gently took hold of Dean’s painfully-hard cock and spread it over him. Dean had to choke back a groan and was able to endure Sam’s ministrations until his brother began inspecting the delicate head of his penis. Dean forcibly removed Sam’s hands from his cock, then leaned forward and mounted him. Taking himself in one hand, he guided his thick member to the tiny opening to Sam’s body. With his other hand, he held Sam behind the neck and locked eyes with him, never looking away as he pressed forward, penetrating Sam’s ass slowly and surely.

Sam made a small sound of pain, and dug his fingers into Dean’s back.

“Am I hurting you?” Dean said, his voice raw and deep.

“A little,” replied Sam breathlessly. “I don’t care, though. Don’t stop, Dean. I’ve waited forever.”

The longing in Sam’s voice made Dean have to force himself to keep from plunging his hips down sharply and burying himself completely in Sam. Little by little, Sam accepted Dean into his body, and finally, finally, Dean was seated to the hilt. Wide-eyed, Sam’s face mirrored his wonder, and he wriggled a bit to adjust to the sensation of being stretched and filled.

“Oh, wow. Oh, god, Dean. You’re inside me,” he said, his whisper one of awe.

Dean shuddered, overwhelmed by the hot, incredibly tight clasp of Sam’s body around him. Sam’s legs gripped his sides, holding him with an easy strength that belied Sam’s gentle nature.

“Yes,” Dean said, his pulse racing too fast, his lungs unable to function properly. He was inside Sam, something he never thought would happen, and he thought his heart would burst from his chest, his happiness and astonishment were so great.

He couldn’t hold still anymore. Burying his hands in Sam’s hair, he bent his head and kissed him, then began moving in a slow, exploratory rhythm that had them both moaning into each other’s mouths.

Sam’s arms were wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, and as Dean began to move faster, his fingers dug into his back. Then Sam grabbed Dean’s ass and pulled him closer, trying to get him deeper.

“Fuck me harder,” he said gutturally, and mindlessly, Dean obeyed, thrusting hard and deep, with Sam urging him on with raw words of love and sex muttered darkly in his ear. “Stop holding back,” Sam insisted, and it was if Dean’s body were programmed to follow Sam’s command, for his hips jack-hammered, and he abandoned all thought in his pursuit of orgasm.

Oh, damn, damn, he wanted to savor this, to make it last longer, but the way Sam was moving under him, using his mouth and hands, he couldn't control himself. And Sam was talking again, saying things that made him feel like he'd just shot up, like he could do anything.

"God, Dean, it's so good. It's so- fuck, I'm gonna come again. Dean, I'm gonna- oh, god, Dean, I love y-"

And for the second time, Sam spurted his milky seed in a hot burst between them.

"-loveyouloveyouloveyou..." Sam said the words as a chant, lost in the throes of his orgasm, and Dean wasn't prepared for their effect. Lightning speared through his veins, and suddenly his climax crashed into him like a breakneck wave, again and again. He threw his head back, his hips plunging deep and rough as he felt his own seed burst out of him and into Sam, who through the lassitude of his own abated peak, said, "I can feel it in me, Dean. Your come. It's hot." Dean felt another wave slam through him at Sam's words. The spasms eventually subsided, and Dean noticed vaguely that sweat had gotten into his eyes, and that it also covered Sam in a fine sheen.

Slowly, spent, Dean collapsed onto him, and Sam tenderly cradled his body with his arms and legs. Only their breathing and heartbeats were audible, and Dean let the lethargy dissolve through him. Sam stroked Dean's back, then kissed his temple and fell asleep. That was such a prosaic thing to do that Dean almost laughed, but he lacked the energy, and instead followed suit with his penis still nestled deep inside Sam.

Neither brother saw or heard a quiet figure clad in a trench coat materialize, contemplate the vision of them lying entangled together, then just as quickly disappear with a soft sound of feathers rustling.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Dean had no idea how much time had passed, but the sun had shifted position by the time he woke, and he immediately became aware of Sam beneath him. Dean's heart gave a squeeze, and he swiftly grew hard within Sam's body.

Sam must have felt it or sensed that his brother was awake, because his breathing changed, and before he even opened his eyes, his thighs tightened around Dean's sides.

"Mmmmdean," he muttered, still half asleep. He lifted his mouth in search of Dean's, and Dean gave it to him, slanting his head and kissing him again with those deep, drugging kisses. Dean felt Sam's heartbeat quicken beneath his palm, and decided to explore his jaw, then his neck. His mouth led him downward until they encountered one of Sam's flat nipples. His tongue darted out and circled it before he took it gently between his teeth, then firmly sucked it into his mouth.

Sam grunted and slid his hands into Dean's hair, and Dean began slowly to thrust, going as deep as he could, searching for Sam's sweet spot again. He found it, drawing a moan from his brother. Deliberately, he nudged that spot again and again, making Sam whimper and clutch at his back. He released Sam’s nipple, then searched out the other one with his lips and gave it the same biting treatment as he had the other. His fingers toyed with the one he’d just let go, and the twin stimulation made Sam breathless.

He reared up then, and pulled Sam up until he was straddling Dean, and the angle and pressure of Sam’s body took Dean in to the hilt, and he once again encountered Sam’s prostate with the head of his penis.

Sam slid his hand between their bodies and reached for his hardening cock, but Dean intercepted him and forced his wrist back, winding it instead about his own back so Sam’s arms were around him. He lifted his head and gently sank his teeth into Sam’s chin, then brushed his lips against his jaw. Mercilessly, he continued his gentle rhythm, stroking Sam’s spot repeatedly. Sam’s legs began trembling, and Dean felt his own excitement building. The ceaseless pressure was working the head of his cock with an almost agonizing stimulation, and when Sam wildly dug his teeth into Dean’s shoulder, he almost lost control.

“Dean,” Sam begged. “Please, Dean. I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can,” grated Dean in reply, his hips never missing a beat. He continued his ruthless torment of him and Sam both, drawing a helpless cry from Sam each time Dean nudged the hard little core of him. Sam moved his hips faster, trying unsuccessfully to control Dean’s pace before Dean gripped his waist and held him still.

Sam’s back arched and his whole body was shaking now, the pressure building and building until he finally tilted his head back and groaned loud and long. Sam’s orgasm poured through him like melted wax, and his semen erupted once more.

When his climax faded away, Sam pulled him down on top of him again where they both lay quiescent, sharing in more of those drowsy kisses. Time seemed to stop for a while; they were so wrapped up in each other they didn’t notice the golden rays of the dying sun lightly settle on them.

Finally, Dean lifted his head and stared down at his beautiful younger brother and stroked one soft cheek with his finger.

“We made love,” Dean said, still not completely able to believe it.

Sam made a sound of satisfaction. “Yes we did,” he agreed, lightly dragging his fingers up and down Dean’s back.

“What happens now, Sam?”

“Now?” echoed Sam. “Now, we take a shower. I have three loads of come on me, and you have plenty, too. After we shower, we get food. Then we go hunting, then we come back here and make love again.”

Dean smiled in mild amazement. “You’ve got it all planned out, huh?”

“At least as far as that.” Sam raised his head and kissed him, then pushed gently on his shoulders. “Shower. Now.”

Slowly, Dean withdrew his still-hard organ from Sam’s body and stood. He stretched lazily, and Sam’s eyes followed him, an appreciative smile on his face at the sight of Dean’s nude form. Then he stood as well, and padded over to the bathroom. Leaning down, he turned on the shower, then waited for the initial icy blast of water to warm up. Dean lounged naked against the doorway, watching his brother’s lithe movements.

“I’ve always loved you, Sammy,” Dean said suddenly.

Sam looked up at Dean’s reflection in the mirror. His eyes were wary. “Why do you sound like you’re saying goodbye?” he asked, his voice low.

Dean’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward to envelop Sam in his arms from behind. “No,” he said in reassurance. He stroked Sam’s muscular chest and kissed the back of his neck, amazed that such gestures came so easily now. It almost felt like nothing had changed, except that everything had changed.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sam. Not without you.” Sam let a pent-up breath escape him slowly. “I’ve just always loved you. And now…”

Sam met his eyes in the mirror. “Now…” he prompted.

“Now I feel like my heart is exploding. Like there are fireworks going on inside me, and it’s because you want me, too.”

Sam smiled his crooked smile and turned in Dean’s arms.

“You have no idea,” he said, and bent to kiss Dean’s mouth. The shower had started to steam up the tiny motel bathroom, and Sam pulled the curtain aside. “After you,” he said to Dean, and then followed him in.

With a hard kiss, Sam had Dean pinned against the tile wall. Then he grabbed the bar of soap and began to lather up. Briskly, he soaped up Dean’s chest, his slick fingers smoothing over hard muscles. Dean all but purred, suddenly again aware of his still-hard dick. Sam was aware of it too, his soapy hand finding it, wringing a groan from Dean as he very thoroughly washed him. He grabbed the shower head and turned it, watching as Dean’s sculpted chest and stomach were rinsed clean of all soap and sweat. He turned it back then, and fell to his knees. Full of want and adoration, his big eyes met Dean’s, and he grasped Dean in both his hands. His tongue darted out, catlike, and flicked the head of Dean’s over-sensitive penis.

Dean leaned against the wall for support as his knees turned to water. His breath bellowed in and out of his lungs, and he made a deep, dark sound in his chest as Sam’s warm, wet mouth opened and enveloped him. Dean’s hands slid into Sam’s wet hair. Despite the water coming from the pipes, Dean’s skin felt like it was on fire. Sam’s mouth was doing astonishing things to him, things it shouldn’t know how to do. His hands slid around Dean’s hips to grip his firm ass, and his fingers gently dug into the crevice between his buttocks, and Dean arched to him in response. It wasn’t long before he cried out, trying to ease Sam away from him, but Sam pushed his hands back. Eagerly, Sam sucked hard on the tip, his hand jerking Dean hard and fast, and Dean lost it. His orgasm swept through him like rain and he groaned loud and long, spurting into Sam’s mouth. Sam swallowed enthusiastically, his eyes closing in delight at the taste of him.

“Jesus, Sam, you learn fast,” Dean said, his voice rough.

Sam didn’t reply. It was impolite to talk with his mouth full.


End file.
